The earth gathers fragrance while nursing the flower,
The wave waxes stronger while feeding the shower,
The stream gains in speed as it sweeps o'er the linn:
The mair that ye work, aye the mair will ye win.
There 's nought got by idling, there 's nought got for nought,
Health, wealth, and contentment, by labour are bought;
In raising yoursel', ye may help up your kin:
The mair that ye work, aye the mair will ye win.
Let every man aim in his heart to excel,
Let every man ettle to fend for himsel';
Aye nourish ye stern independence within:
The mair that ye work, aye the mair will ye win.
THE WIDOW.
The widow is feckless, the widow 's alane,
Yet nae ane e'er hears the puir widow complain;
For, ah! there 's a Friend that the world wots na o',
Wha brightens her ken, and wha lightens her wo.
She looks a' around her, and what sees she there
But quarrels and cavils, but sorrow and care?
She looks in within, and she feels in her breast
A dawning o' glory, a foretaste o' rest.
The hope o' hereafter her lane bosom cheers,
She langs sair to meet him wha left her in tears;
And life's flickerin' licht, as it wanes fast awa',
But fades to gie place to a far brichter daw.
The God o' high heaven is her comfort and guide,
When earthly friends leave her, He stands by her side;
He soothes a' her sorrows, an' hushes her fears,
An' fountains o' joy rise frae well-springs o' tears.
Then, oh! shew the widow the smile on your face,
She 's aft puir in gear, but she 's aft rich in grace;
Be kind to the widow, her Friend is on high,
You 'll meet wi' the widow again in the sky.